


A Very Merry Motel Christmas

by Fangirlinit



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlinit/pseuds/Fangirlinit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in snowy Vermont, Myka and Helena have to share their first Christmas together in a dump of a motel. Using their resources and sharp minds they team up to make the holiday special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Merry Motel Christmas

Vermont is nice this time of year with all that snow…

That crisp, clean smell and blistering frost nipping at the tips of noses and ears. You know it is winter when you can see your breath and the smoke piping from the chimney like inflatable pillows. That ‘ahhh’ sound made after one gets before the fireplace, hands chaffing together, and toes wiggling within two (maybe three) pairs of stockings. That first sip of warm beverage scalding down your throat. Oh, how one will give for a cup of cocoa post-shoveling snow or just post-carving angels!

And the skiing! What a right fine place to go downhill skiing. There are over a dozen trails and slopes to choose from and various resorts to tuck in at after a long day’s snow gliding. Or Christmas tree cutting! Vermont has an extensive network of tree farms and the choices range from your basic green needles to your sharply pointed _Picea pungens_. And who can forget maple syrup? Put it on your waffles, your cereal, your bacon (as Pete will suggest); there’s really no wrong way to serve it up.

But the snow in the state of Vermont certainly takes the cake. The first flakes come down like a slow, fluffy downpour and bathe every surface like liquid marshmallow. The landscape is so white and vast it makes your eyes cross. One would have to be certifiable not to take a moment’s pause and soak up the majestic purity of snow.

Helena knows just how nice it is. She is also aware of how several feet of it can be a detriment in making it home for Christmas. The winter wonderland would have been acceptable if it were not for their canceled flight and being stuck in this extremely rural town of Pine Tree. Helena is not thankful to be in Pine Tree, Vermont much less the security office of a public school.

After containing John Dewey’s pulpit and assuring teachers that striking it while fervently advocating democracy was a symptom of mushrooms, she and Myka were detoured by the expressively announced news bulletin that a blizzard for the record books was headed right for the town. Myka heard ‘blizzard’ and made a bee line for the source. Helena followed on her heels after she caught the words ‘for the record books.’ The security officer didn’t seem to mind the intrusion of two attractive ladies on his domain of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and 1990s recording equipment.

And here Helena is, sulking before the color television (the only advancement it had going for it) and chancing a look out the greasy window. A total whiteout, says the meteorologist.

“What we have here is a snowstorm,” informed Mr. Spiffy Blonde Haired Meteorologist, his teeth showing a bit too cheery for bad news. In response to his moronic nature rather than the statistics, Helena muttered a string of curses her British people take to heart. The fake tan is reason enough to roll one’s eyes at. “Now we all know what that means: stay indoors, turn up the heat, and keep that hot chocolate cookin’! It may look pretty out there, but with conditions like this…” more unnecessary smiling, “better safe than sorry, Pine Tree.”

A dazzling smile and ‘right back to you, Kathy!’ wraps up the weather segment and Myka is already pulling out her hair.

Helena speaks what is on the pair of their minds. “Bloody brilliant.”

“I am going to _kill_ Pete!”

“Darling,” drawls Helena with that perfect balance of cheek and affection, “is it not past that period of murder and mayhem this holiday season when we all sit down with our eggnog and be grateful to be alive?”

“I sure am,” replies the security guard. With a lecherous grin he leans back in his chair, legs propped on the desk and content with the weatherman’s timing.

Myka drags her chuckling partner into the hallway and away from prying eyes, ears, and flakes of congealed crème frosting.

“Well, that sounds like a great idea, Helena. I’ll get right on ordering egg nog from the five star cafeteria just after I dig myself out of the avalanche headed for us.”

Myka stands there, arms folded over her chest and the toe of her boot tapping out a rapid tempo of edginess.

“Don’t be silly. It’s hardly avalanche season.” With a flourish of her hand Helena gestures at a nearby window. There is a clear horizontal slant to the torrent of snow coming in from the west (where home is). “And it is not Pete’s or Claudia’s fault we took this assignment.”

“I should have known something was up when they turned it down. Pete… and Claudia! Pass up a chance to snowboard in America’s Winter Playground? No, there was a reason they chose the Minnesota case.”

Helena’s mouth contorted to offer a frank explanation. She shrugged. “Minnesota has better slopes?”

More hair pulling and an excessively drawn out “Aaaaargh!” Helena wasn’t about to let her partner’s poor beautiful locks suffer from this predicament, so she took the hands prisoner in her own. The pulling of roots was discontinued and Helena breathed a sigh of relief.

“I hate this,” Myka said, pouting under her mussed hair.

“I know.”

Sad green eyes which speak of what they have been through blinked at Helena. They are wide and deep with longing and express the cost of staying in Vermont. They express what it means if they do. “It’s Christmas Eve, Helena,” she mumbles softly. They will be without their friends. No Warehouse traditions. Little to no gifts exchange. More importantly, they will be without that commemorative kiss in the hallway.

Helena’s chin dips and rises in a halfhearted attempt to nod. It ‘really blows’ as Americans put it, but her British sensibilities can supply a more expressive connotation. Helena understands how important this Christmas is for them as a couple. This is the first year all the Warehouse agents and their families are gathered to celebrate. Back in Univille the B&B is hosting a cozy affair with egg nog, cookies, shiny wrapped presents under a Christmas tree, a suspiciously large honeyed ham (artifact effect?), inappropriately utilized mistletoe, and all the trimmings. All the gang is together to share in the celebration including Joshua, Dr. Calder (or “Mistress Vanessa” as Claudia teases her boss), and the Lattimer women. Myka is supposed to introduce Helena to her parents and, hence, a severe assessment from Warren Bering.

Helena cups a cheek in the palm of her hand, cradling it like a brittle sculpture. Her thumb caresses below that yearning eye, just to assure it was present for the job of catching tears if it came to that. Helena knows Myka well enough that the gesture isn’t needed, not when they are still in public and her tough Agent Bering refuses to break down this early in the afternoon. But the area is soothed nonetheless, and afforded the promise whispered nightly under a shelter of blankets.

“It is Christmas Eve,” Helena’s breath washes warm over Myka, “and we are together. That is more than I could ask for three years ago and hardly a dream granted credibility over 100 years ago. I would be a fool to think myself unlucky.”

“How are we going to go about this?” Myka’s common sense takes over her slouched posture and wrinkled brow. The obvious is stated again for both their sanities. “It’s the night before Christmas, and we’re stuck in this town indefinitely without supplies or a roof over our heads.”

Helena’s smile is indicative of her rebellious ways. It is known to Claudia as the smile that invites her to reanimate a suit of armor as a research intern. It is known to Pete as the smile offered to the local movie rental employee who sells out of horror flicks that night. To Artie the smile causes a superior’s heart attack or brings about an explosion or any outcome that goes ‘boom!’ And to Myka, a smile like this on the often occasion meant inventory duties will be traded for some passionate tryst (the location always a wisely concealed secret).

The smile is accompanied by a wink and a promise. “I have a few theories percolating.”

***

The Cumberland Inn isn’t what one would call a “dump” but it is certainly making a name for itself in a similar respect. The two-level motel is cheap, but advertises the homier side of motel living with all the amenities one cannot live without. Apparently, one can go on without a hairdryer, toilet paper, or a working television in record weather conditions. The Inn is located off the freeway in sparse landscape of snow, more snow, and quite a bit of forestry. There is no shopping or eateries for five miles, which further reinforces the backwoods touch. From the outside, the dreary inn appears deserted. The first two feet of the first floor are buried in snow dunes and the inches creep closer and closer to the window panes. Save for a few rooms giving off soft flickers of firelight most windows are bathed in darkness. Save for the mint green lettering, thrumming with erratic flashing indicating vacancy and the sign allowing pretty much any pets with fins, legs, and wagging tails (which explains the wet dog smell permeating the lobby) Cumberland Inn looked about as stocked as a department store on Christmas Eve.

Helena wants to leave immediately upon setting eyes upon it, and warns her partner she has just seen a movie with Pete the other day about an innkeeper who killed his one and only lodger in a ghastly shower scene. Helena isn’t one for subtlety and, so she says, neither are the ghostly preoccupied. One would know after watching a marathon on charming sociopaths, voyeurism, and the infinitely macabre. Their other Warehouse partner has her on a horror movie kick and is getting educated on all the Hitchcock classics.

With Myka’s insistence that Cumberland Inn isn’t the Bates Motel and an assurance from the lovely husband and wife innkeepers that there are other tenants in for the night Helena rests easier. Myka will just have to keep her mouth shut and hope Pete didn’t get to the other slasher films relating to cabin fever and house haunted ax murderers. Knowing Helena, the only power capable of preying on her primal fears is a dwindling supply of English tea.

Their motel room is on the first floor just a few doors down from the inn’s modest bar establishment. Where only one of the two double beds will get use and the shower possessing respectful dimensions for two, the room didn’t seem bad as previously thought. At the prospect of warm water and a cozy bed Myka and Helena feel their spirits rising.

By the time they unpack and make note of what is available at hand the evening is fast approaching. Chores are divvied up so that they are not working overtop one another amid the small closet they have for a bedroom. Helena, having a self-professed flair for embellishment (Myka taking it with a predictable smirk), makes herself comfortable for the duties of decoration. Myka is tasked with gathering food and supplies.

***

“Could have just stayed in Univille,” Myka muttered as she drove a steady 20 mph on what passed for a road. Hugging the wheel like it resembled her teddy bear back home she took her time coasting the SUV down a steep, icy hill. “But _noooo_ you had to be a workaholic and grab the first assignment that lands you straight in a freezing hell. And now Helena will never forgive you for keeping her at the Bates Motel overnight.”

She has been driving for a half hour and her hands are numb from clamping the wheel so tight. Though it’s freezing outside, inside her vehicle is made toasty by the car’s heater and her oversized Warehouse-issue parka complete with fur-lined hood and detachable mittens. Though a tall, skinny framed woman, with all the layers packed on she can barely stuff herself in the driver’s seat. Better than freezing to death, one will defend. Her traveling companion, though, thought the outfit an “adorable fashion statement for the ages” and dubbed Myka her “darling Eskimo.” It was all too easy to poke fun because Helena, for her part, had been improving what seemed to have come hot of the runways of Paris or Milan –or “sensible outerwear” as she described.

Though having a frighteningly dissimilar choice in fashion, Myka and Helena were certainly a pair, and as the agent plowed through snow drifts with only her vehicle’s headlights to guide her, thinks back on just how they came to be such a unique team.

Christmas has always been special to Myka Bering. Before Helena, it was a time for friends and family and artifact disasters and wacky time disturbances. There were some Christmases spent alone, but that is in the past. Myka has people she can count on now, people who are dear to her as blood relation. Then H.G. Wells was resurrected – from the dead, but not quite – and Christmas became something different. It was not just about the people in her life and sharing joy with them, but about the enemies who could be challenged and pushed and molded into persons they once were. A heart so long put on ice needed a warm and gentle hand to revive it. For once in Myka Bering’s life she wanted to give instead of receive for the holidays. And so she attempted this grand gesture and for a time was satisfied with her efforts. Enemy became friend and lonely nights became filled with possibility. But before their first Christmas, before Myka could be truly rewarded for her heroic act, it all fell apart. H.G. Wells came apart at the seams and, as a result, so did her champion.

“Talk about haunted,” the agent mumbles with a shake of her head, “ _I’m_ the one who’s going to be haunted if I don’t fix this.” Squinting through the flurries she catches the bright white LED beacon of salvation: a convenience store. She breathes a sigh of relief that there is a gas station as well for her tank is running dangerously low. Myka worries at her lip at the thought of her food choices. If she has to live through the night on a diet of beef jerky and blueberry slushies… “Pete will never let me live this down.”

Myka will not be amiss to say her heart had been broken at one time. In fact, it continued to be a hapless puzzle with jagged edges and missing pieces for a long time. Myka felt so used up then, all out of generosity for anyone not family or friend. Faith was harder to come by, but Myka found faith and generosity go hand in hand as did another sentiment, one she felt from Helena not long after they had met and, she would begin to realize, from herself as well. Myka didn’t speak of it when Emily Lake was no more and kept her aching lips shut in the suburbs of Wisconsin. There was never enough time to say it much less understand what needed to be said. Accepting was one thing, but speaking heart from lips was not a skill easily come by.

It is a skill, Myka realized, Helena is more than adequately endowed with. And her methods are, to say the least, shrewd and forthcoming. But that was exactly what the pair needed: shrewd and forthcoming. It happened one Christmas Eve, much like the one they are presently stuck with in Vermont. Helena returned home not long after a promise of coffee and saving the world. Much changed since the days of color coded exits and strict sugar diets, Myka was faithful and generous and so filled with love. Helena, finally cradled in warmth after spending so many years with a frozen heart, shined like the North Star followed by so diligent a lady.

The festivities were a tiresome affair that night, but left Myka giddy for what future Christmases would bring. She had received the best gift anyone could afford and, if Helena abided, was one that would keep on giving. But Myka’s only Christmas wish was just for her gift to stay. And Helena did so in the hallway where she stopped a dazed and drunk on Christmas cheer Myka. H.G. Wells, a gift of life and love, had one more present and it was given that night. Offering that desperate look Myka received from her in the days before the fall, begging her to make the first move Helena took on the mantle that night of being most generous. The kiss had everything in it they wanted to say and more. Helena was finally able to show Myka how grateful she was to have someone fight for her humanity and Myka could show how whole she felt now that she found her home. They gave in to the love undeserved upon meeting with the knowledge that it was finally earned. New life was breathed in and heated exhalations of desire out. It was a Christmas neither would forget and a memory that would stay on their tongues and beat with their hearts into rougher blizzards than this.

The storm isn’t letting up as sheets of snow pelted Myka’s scrunched face in her trudge back to the car, but she still has that night in the B&B hallway and the nights following, impassioned and unrestrained. She still has that kiss and subsequent kisses to ignite a heat inside her belly and rush of air in her lungs. She still has a gift that in all her insufferable Victorian methods keeps on giving and is waiting for her to return with a Christmas Eve dinner of various convenience store delicacies.

***

If Helena G. Wells can build a time machine she can muster up a bit of spirit to decorate a hovel. It goes without saying that one need not a miracle to brighten up a room, but when one was without adequate resources measures must be taken. Possessing an inventive mind the Warehouse valued in more than one century, Helena improvises decorations and brings a bit of her own family traditions to the hotel room.

To make crackers, she grabs some nuts from the inn’s bar and has the bartender soak them in water and sprinkle sugar over them. The candy (and a surprise) is stuffed into a paper towel roll tub, wrapped in newspaper, and twisted at the ends.

For decking the walls and windows Helena has to forgo the newer Victorian tradition of artificial sprigs and twigs for the real thing. Pine cones dangle from the fixtures, twigs are weaved into a wreath and garnished with frozen (albeit poisonous) berries, tea lights flicker inside shot glasses, a spare pair of stockings drape over the end of the bed. Myka will even be shocked by her partner’s craft skills at the sight of dozens of cut out snowflakes taped to the window and walls (Helena hopes there’s no need for stationary paper later) and newspaper chains ready to wind round the door handle for an erotic yet comical flair.

It being their first Christmas Helena worries over the missed opportunity of giving Myka a true celebration. Were they in the coziness of an Univille inn Helena would top Myka with a golden crown of tissue paper, toast their love with wassail, kiss under the mistletoe, and share a mid-day meal of roast goose, Yorkshire pudding, and a traditional English trifle.

“The Cumberbatchland Inn will just have to do,” Helena affirmed with a sigh.

After flipping her hair back she crouched down under her pride and joy decoration, one which will either give Myka a heart attack or a laugh or both. She loves the brunette dearly but the agent doesn’t know what it means to enjoy a little vacation from law abiding. If H.G. Wells can’t exercise a little freedom of expression whilst buried under several feet of snow then what hope is there in the world?

A branch tickling at her coy smirking mouth, Helena remembers how splendid her life had been since last Christmas Eve and how much her relationship with Myka had grown. Their trust in each other as Warehouse partners had deepened as puzzles never went unsolved and days were always saved in the nick of time. Myka accepted her hunches like she did Pete’s vibes and in return Helena promised not to second-guess Myka’s Plan B, C, D, and E. When in the midst of a lover’s spat they cooperated just as well with Pete’s entertaining comments and generous relationship advice, yet it was always a bit less annoying when it was just the two of them working out their quarrel. Though their affection for one another was as necessary and encompassing as before, it was never damaging to the mission at hand. If anything it made them a stronger team; they detected strain or hesitancy in each other’s posture, they could give directions without having to use words, and finish sentences like it was meant to be.

While their work relationship flourished their friendship grew serious. The need to be close became constant. It was a driving force that kept them together over the first months of their relationship. Myka wouldn’t let Helena out of her sight but it wasn’t for a lack of trust. Lasting accusations of her rigidity and condescension paving a road of loneliness stuck to her like a curse. It wasn’t until the thirtieth morning of waking to a bed filled with long black hair and a sleepy-eyed, devilishly horny Victorian that the curse was forgotten.

They had a tendency to sulk when apart for long periods of time. Myka was extra ornery and prone to violence (losing patience with her more childish partner on a daily basis), while Helena withdrew into tinkering with projects around the Warehouse. Artie recently made the decision to have the two women partner up on missions more often, a decision made after Pete’s bruises were shown off and some parts of his office were “tweaked” as Helena expressed. While it was hell to be apart the reunion sex was nothing to frown on. Never did it occur to Helena and Myka how profound the love of one’s touch could feel or how explosive orgasms could send one to break a headboard (guilty was Helena of the later) after a painful duration of not seeing one another. It was always worth the wait, but the tenants of the B&B were always made known of their colleague’s return and took to hosting action movie marathons in Pete’s room. During those night hours of exuberant screams and bed creaks the explosions by Michael Bay and Steven Spielberg were their only saving grace.

“No worries tonight, Univille,” Helena mumbles with a chuckle.

Her lips widen around perfectly straight teeth as she takes in her evening’s work of decking. She smiles because it looks beautiful in a hit-or-miss sort of way. She did what she could with what she had and Myka will love the effort just the same. They could be spending Christmas Eve in a cardboard box in an alley somewhere and they would still be grateful. Decorations and feasts meant little if there isn’t a soul to share it with. As long as they are together and loving one another and laughing then this Christmas will be a joyous one.

***

Indeed, Myka adored the effort Helena put into decorating for her eyes lit up like Christmas lights themselves and a goofy grin plastered across her face. At first she thinks she made a mistake and stepped into the wrong room, but the sight of Helena stretched out on the bed and busy making balloons out of purple gloves is enough to pause.

H.G. Wells. Making glove balloons.

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” she can’t help saying as she continues to take in her surroundings.

“I hope you don’t mind purple,” Helena comments irately, rolling her eyes as she waves about a glove. “I don’t think Artie received the memo on Christmas, yet even so I hardly think he would have sprung for red gloves this season.”

“It’s perfect, Helena.” Myka looks at her meaningfully. True enough it doesn’t matter what color the glove balloons are or how tacky the candle shot glasses look. It is the thought that counts.

She shuffles over to the bed and deposits her bags of groceries. With added scrutiny of Helena’s work Myka smiles in the soft light of candles and scent of pinecones and pine needles. She rubs her hands together to get warm, counting her blessings that their room had a working heater. Her cheery smile freezes and slowly fades when she finally spots Helena’s prime decoration standing under their window. Her once chilled bones turn to fire as a surge of fury rushes through her body.

“Please tell me you did not cut down some random tree and drag it to our room.”

The Balsam fir remains as silent and guilty as it stands. It is about knee high (of a height someone of Helena’s size could drag) and its needles a lush green color, full and sharp. Strips of cloth are tied to the branches in bows. Myka sidesteps as she notices the telltale trail of pine needles from the door to the Balsam’s new home.

A trail misconduct and utter tomfoolery. A trail of Christmas tree trafficking.

Myka’s hands rise to her hips and she tips her head purposely. “Helena…”

“Isn’t it wonderful?!”

“Wonderful is not the word I would use. Illegal – that is what I was going for. Helena, you need a permit to get a tree and even then you can’t just amble on to someone’s private property and uproot their trees. It’s trespassing!”

“Don’t be silly, darling. No one _owns_ Mother Nature.” Helena gives one distinguished roll of her eyes and goes to spruce up the tree, smile cheerier than ever. “If anything, I liberated this splendid fir.”

“Liberated,” Myka mutters blankly. She throws up her hands as if relinquishing all responsibility over the human being (a task not quite so easily given up). Her head shakes. “Whatever. If you get arrested on our first Christmas Eve together I’m not bailing you out.”

Helena blows air from her mouth in a manner of inattention and just goes back to touching up the Balsam pet. She gazes fondly as she fluffs the branches and adjusts the bows. Really, who would dare arrest her for improving upon Vermont’s finest flora? If it truly is against the law then Helena really did wake up in the wrong century.

“Oh, and I was able to procure a bottle of buttered rum. Courtesy of the inn’s bartender.”

“He gave us free alcohol?” Myka asks suspiciously, elbow deep in groceries.

“She,” Helena corrects primly. “Sharp girl. She’s studying literature at the community college and hopes to earn enough to study in Europe next summer.”

“Sounds like you two had a lot to talk about.”

“Not exactly. She had to get home before the storm worsened.” After the last touches were made Helena rose from the floor. “I’m sure her partner will see fit to entertain her further this Christmas Eve.”

Eyebrows lifting, the agent draws an apprehensive expression. “Partner?”

Helena places her chuckling mouth against a cheek in a kiss before wrapping Myka in a hug from behind. “Darling, must you always think so ill of my intentions?”

“You _are_ a serial flirt.”

“Only if it gets your attention.” Helena kisses below an ear and drags her lips gently along a jaw. “And it seems my recent activities have woken a sleeping dragon. What must I do to quell the creature?”

Shivering under the words whispered against her skin Myka leans back into the soft, warm body of _her_ partner. She links her hands with the other woman, playing her fingers against the other latching childishly to hers. Myka hums as she receives another kiss this time on her neck and with the swipe of a tongue. Turning her head to allow for better access she brings up her arm and cups a hand to Helena’s cheek, feeling the outline of a smile in her palm. Helena kisses it and elicits a slight moan from its owner.

“What must I do?” she implores a second time. Her lips trace the tendons in Myka’s wrist and utter verses of joy and profound esteem against the pulse.

Myka can’t keep in the giggle as she is teased by Helena’s very breath. “Helping me unpack these supplies would be a start.”

“Well,” she sighs and ceases her ministrations with regret, “then it must be done.”

Helena flops down on the bed, gives the other woman a wink which tells of future obligations, and dives into the supplies.

The paper bag rustling to her scrutiny, Helena accounts for two bottles of egg nog, pre-made ham sandwiches, microwaveable apple pie pockets, and an economy bag of pretzels. Also, because they were not prepared to spend the night away she is pleased to find that Myka picked up the essential overnight materials. The sandwiches and fixings are not at all what Helena has in mind for a Christmas Eve dinner, but it would do. God knows how long Myka had to drive to stumble upon an open store in the dead of night and midst this blizzard. And she will not dare ask where the supplies were bought from because she is sure to spark some fury within the woman again at missing honeyed holiday ham at Leena’s.

“Myka?”

The brunette has stopped unpacking and is now looking sullenly on her loot like it has rotten through. A still hand is clasped in Helena’s, yet her eyes remained blank and motionless under the hood of semi-wet curls.

“Myka, what is it?”

“Crap. I got convenience store crap. High sodium, high fat, low quality crap!” Myka, who was herself strung out on an emergency car supply of Twizzlers, runs a shaky hand through her hair. She looks around the haphazard, yet sprightly decked room and starts unraveling. “You managed to make everything look amazing with nothing but scraps…” She hides her face in her hands and unleashes more tears.

It is clear to Helena that Myka had been holding in a lot of her insecurities about the night and that this breakdown was inevitable. It is hard for the brunette who always insists on perfection. Letting go and allowing things to lie as they may is a lesson not easily learned. Helena’s heart broke at the presence of tears and shaking shoulders. She understands the constant pressure Myka insists on carrying and loves her for being so brave through this whole ordeal.

Somehow, “You did what you could” doesn’t sound like the appropriate thing to say at the time. Instead, Helena pulls the brunette down beside her and brings the sobbing mess in the security of her arms. As times previous when Myka was inconsolable about being away from her love too long or about the dog that was killed in the movie Pete recommended, Helena soothes her down with rounding circles on the slope of her back. With a few “shushes” and kisses to her snow speckled hair, she quells the worst fears and replaces them with hope.

“I like pretzels,” she attempts with a bit of cheer and shrugging of her shoulders.

“I know,” Myka croaks, sniffing up spare tears, “that’s why I got them.”

Helena nods with the bobbing head, cracking a grin at her conscientious ‘Eskimo.’

***

If you had told Myka she would be spending Christmas Eve night in a motel in Pine Tree, Vermont eating ham sandwiches and microwavable apple pie pockets she would have thrown you in the neutralizer. It seems surreal, and quite strange if you were to ask. The convenience store fair, hanging pine cones, and a stolen Christmas tree were not at all what she had in mind for celebrating the holiday. The only part that manages to make up for the impromptu dinner is sitting next to her on the bed and blowing steam off her half of the apple pie pocket.

It is just after the glove balloons had been abandoned and the crackers employed to their full extent. When Myka broke hers apart she found hidden amongst the sugared nuts a silver bracelet. It is simple yet elegant and very much Myka’s style. Helena is not one to give jewelry for gifts and always thought it a superficial cop out, but her relationship with Myka was serious enough that the expensive charm is expected. The brunette would never willingly call herself an emotional person, yet the amount of crying taking up her day is enough to doubt the notion. Trying and failing to conceal the evidence, Myka apologized profusely for not having Helena’s present with her, but the apology is waved off with a genuine smile and shake of the head. Helena prompted more tears with the avowal that she already had the best Christmas gift anyone could ask or write a novel for.

Licking the crumbs from the corner of her mouth Myka laughed to herself. Oh, how far they have come, her and Helena. Just last year she was moping about Leena’s, nursing a cup of Earl Grey and looking out a frosty window at the snow. Myka remembers how low her life had gotten then, how hopeless a holiday blessing seemed. She also remembers the teasing sense that Christmas that year would be different, and sure enough her heart leapt at the sight of a short, sprightly woman leaping through snow piles, black hair flying stark against the winter wonderland and headed straight for home. Just a year ago Myka and Helena received their Christmas wish and now here they were together again and just as blessed.

Myka notices a small twig concealed in the silk tresses of Helena’s hair and with a smile she extracts it with amusement.

“How far into the forest did you have to go to get that tree?” she asks.

Helena frowns at the stem brandished before her eyes and fingers through her hair for more. When she is satisfied there are little to no needles or branches she turns to Myka who is giggling beside her and quite thoroughly entertained. Helena makes a clicking with her tongue and holds up a finger for the benefit of her explanation. “In my time decorations were becoming more artificial. While the medieval tradition of evergreen trees endured, the method of decoration became a more ordered and elegant affair. Anything smelling of the outdoors caused noses to turn up. I never understood how the potent smell of store bought pine and ivy made the holidays jollier.”

“Just think what the Victorians would say about the state of this place.”

“I imagine they would take up arms just at the presence of these pine cones,” Helena muses as she flicks at one of the cones sending it to and fro like a pendulum. “Then again, it wouldn’t matter at all. I _am_ Helena G. Wells.” Without stating the obvious she lifts a casual brow to indicate what is not said: And I was notorious for offending their delicate sensibilities.

Encouraged by the begging from Myka, Helena dives into a prologue of the Wells family traditions. It isn’t a solemn burden, rehashing old memories, but her past isn’t recounted without a few pulls at her heart. One chapter in particular, telling of a young Christina pulling on her cracker and causing its contents of bon bons and favors to explode right into the face of her unsuspecting uncle was enough to elicit a light-hearted moment of happiness. The image of unbridled joy on the little girl’s face paired with the bumbling protestations of Charles almost causes Helena to weep a melting pot of delight and calamity. She misses her family and all their absurdity that it is hard to pull herself back into the present, but Myka is there with a hand squeezing hers and the past doesn’t seem so tragic anymore.

“My parents called earlier,” Myka mentions coolly. Her eyes wander innocently around the room as she can testify to the way the other woman’s posture straightens immediately. “They express their concern over our welfare here beneath the snow and feel bad we won’t be celebrating Christmas Eve together.”

A sly promotion of a brow and then, “I certainly escaped that one by the skin of my teeth.”

“Don’t be too sure.” Myka narrowed her eyes daringly. “My mom is a stickler for punctuality and with us not present she will make my dad wait. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s camped out at the door when we get back.”

“Aces,” Helena mutters with no trace of enthusiasm.

“Your excitement is unbearable.” Myka leans back on the bed from the wave of laughter coming out. “You have to put a damper on that or my mom will take you home with her to Colorado.”

Helena flashes a smile as sickly sweet as the sugared nuts they are sharing. “Is that jealousy I detect? I can’t quite be sure.”

“Call it what you will. Just know the Berings are a protective clan and have no qualms about kidnapping.”

Helena tips her head, furrowing her brows. A battle between amusement and concern wage in the lines around her mouth. “Hard to see your mother as the felonious type.”

“Actually, I was talking about myself.”

Myka looms forth to lay a fiercely possessive mouth on Helena’s which forgoes argument. Drawing on the testament laid bare before them the kiss morphs into a devastatingly slow communication between lips and tongue. Helena captures the face in her hands in a tender embrace. Returning the loving assault with a passionate mouth of her own she seems to float blissfully at the idea of Myka taking her as her own and putting her away for rainy days and all time in between. She wouldn’t respond with such exuberance to anyone else who had a mind to imprison her heart. Helena is already claimed and more than content with her sentence.

Without warning Helena takes Myka hand and with a grin harking back to childhood says, “Come outside with me.”

By the light of the moon bouncing off pale white snow, Myka cannot look any more adorable in her wool beanie hat. It has stiches coming out at all angles and only covers a small measure of her cascading chestnut curls, but it is a cute look nonetheless. Helena cannot stop the joy that breaks through her face and holds the smile easily in the cold.

They stop in an open setting away from the line of trees. The accumulation of snow has a crust, untouched by human intervention and is as sparkling as the Studio 54 disco ball. It crunches underfoot like vulnerable glass. Here they can gaze up into the black night sky unhindered by lights and fog. The stars shine like diamonds studded in velvet. For a fleeting moment Helena wonders if the constellations above are the same as when she took Christina out one Christmas Eve. It seems unfair that the stars should go on while her daughter is condemned to the earth for eternity. Everyone on Earth for that matter lives and dies while the suns in sky burn a steady immortal fire. But who wants to live forever when a few precious moments are enough to bring peace of mind?

Helena looks on Myka’s stunning expression of wonder as she beholds the stars. She curls an arm around the other woman’s and brings them closer. Distracted by the movement, Myka meets deep brown eyes shining with gratitude and love and everything she is lucky to be bestowed upon with. Their eyes share something now, understanding and want for a lifelong gift of attachment. For theirs is an immortal union that will persist through the inferno of chaos and outlive time itself. But little of this is understood now. All that is, all that is exchanged beneath the flickering cosmos and between the flitting snowflakes remains as everlasting grace, warming cheeks and full to the brim hearts.

The tranquility is broken up by blinking red and blue lights. Voices and the beams of flashlights cause Myka and Helena to turn from the sky to the cop car parked at the inn and two men in uniform in deep discussion. The husband innkeeper is there too, shouting to the cop in the Stetson and pointing towards the trees.

“Is that the sheriff?!” Myka sputters. She pans from the angry innkeeper to the tree line he is pointing towards. It doesn’t take long for her to put two and two together before the proverbial steam screams from her ears. “I swear to god, Helena, if they found out about that missing tree I… I’m…” her mittens curl before Helena’s widening eyes while the thumbs press inward as if to cut off the Invisible Man’s windpipe, “I’m going to tell Artie!” Myka finally latches onto a threat and nods firmly to it.

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah,” Myka nods gravely, despite knowing the intimidation has sunk in marginally. “So don’t even look at me with those eyes because I will not lose my nerve this time. I promise you, if this goes badly for us you will forever remember this night as the night –“

Helena, who is the only one aware of their predicament and how the cops are nearing their location, gets a vice grip on Myka’s mitten-clad hand and pulls.

“Come along, darling. You can reprimand me away from the purview of the police.”

Myka’s boots drag snow on the walkway and it occurs to Helena that she is taking her sweet time on purpose. Leave it to Agent Bering to draw attention to the downside of her partner’s cockiness.

“Reprimand?” Myka grins, feeling the buttered rum working its magic on her temper. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you can do anything to me,” mumbles Helena absently, head whipping over her shoulder occasionally. The thought of getting arrested on Christmas Eve is suddenly becoming a very tangible fear. “Just as long as we hurry along.”

Myka continues to lick her lips, drag her heels, and guffaw in good fun despite the adamant shove dealt from behind.

“Maybe we should ask the good sheriff to lend his handcuffs. Because if anyone’s doing the arresting tonight…”

Helena rolls her eyes and picks up the pace. “It will be you, darling. Yes, I came to that conclusion as well. But if you need restraints to carry out your seizure I can assure you I always pack a spare pair for missions.”

A snort comes from Myka without a care for indecency less than a few yards from the Pine Tree police. She turns in Helena’s grasp, bestowing a sweet smile and a wink. “I know, hon,” she whispers conspiratorially.

***

Long after they stow away in the safety of their room and once Helena proves how naughty she has been this Christmas the stars make way for sunrise. A steady descent of snow peppers the slushy streets and blizzard dunes, but the winds no longer hinder travel arrangements for visitors. It is the perfect kind of weather that makes children squeal with delight and adults join in without preconceived notions of etiquette. The sun is just warm enough to keep the chill at bay, but not enough to melt the backdrop. Wildlife shakes off their natural insulation and scrounges barren land for food. Needles shiver on creaking branches, and a lone stump weeps for its better Balsam half.

It is the kind of Christmas morning that brings joy to all, yet the great outdoors offer little to Myka and Helena. Instead of benefiting from the winter wonderland the solitude and entertainment taken up in bed fetches enough pleasure for the both of them.

A pair of metal handcuffs adding to the décor of pine cones and paper snowflakes, the room is still wrapped in the warmth of candles and a shockingly decent heating system. Myka turns over in her sleep and blindly tucks an arm under her bed partner while looping the other around a shoulder. Snoring softly, Helena tips her nose into matted brunette curls. The corner of her mouth turns up faintly, its owner dreaming deeply.

If either wakes up they would be confronted by the reality that they spent their first Christmas together in a dump of a motel. It will also occur to them that their last meal consisted of high calorie sweets and questionable meat products. They will rub their eyes and squint at the tacky pine cones and shot glass candles, wondering just how the room managed to not smell like a bear’s den. And, of course, one will slap a palm to their face after catching the site of a Balsam fir leaning unevenly against the wall as if it was on death’s doorstep.

However shocking their surroundings will be, not a single regret will be born.

No riches in the world can make Myka or Helena wish to be anywhere else. No lavish hotel in Europe or the Bahamas can beat the Cumberland Inn when a time traveling mother of science fiction spent hours sprucing it up just for one special night. Though a prudish young agent may have traded for better food that didn’t come out of a wrapper, she was content with the course of events. After all, people live on less and some do not even have the luxury of being with loved ones this holiday season. Why turn your nose up at where you are when the person next to you is always there laughing at your jokes and pulling out all the stops to make you feel one in a million? Some things are out of our control. What we _can_ do is hope and love and smile at our fortune.

For Myka Bering and Helena Wells luck is a fickle thing, but when it appears it does so like a beautiful snowy morning after the storm. They never take it for granted because being in the arms of the one you love on Christmas morning… that is something to be thankful for.

**Author's Note:**

> Cutting down trees on private property and in forested areas is a felony that carries a fine and, in some states, time in jail. Deforestation is a serious crime. Though she is a cheeky Brit and a genius it would benefit you not to emulate Helena’s felonious tree escapades.


End file.
